Natasha's Aggravating Adventure in Bringing Balance to the Universe
by still.fly
Summary: In which Natasha receives a phone call from Steve, gets caught in a time loop, meets Stephen Strange, gets caught in a time loop again, falls in love slowly, and appeases the universe. Steve/Natasha
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

 _Sticks in the DNA_.

The words kept haunting her. When Tony had initially said them they had stung, yeah, but she was more concerned that perhaps she had made the wrong decision. Half of the team was locked away and the other half was in complete disorder. Already she could see everything turning against them; Secretary Ross unearthed his true colors when he locked away _her friends_ in an underwater _prison_.

She prides herself on being able to read people. How did she not see through that manipulative son of a bitch?

 _They're coming for you._

 _I'm not the one that needs to watch their back._

No, they would have to find her first.

* * *

Her hair is still red, but she was styling it different. She had let it grow out enough that she could pull it into a messy bun on top of her head and cut her bangs so that they sat against her forehead and tickled her eyelashes. Her wardrobe in this town consisted of thin hoodies and skinny jeans—perfect for the season.

Natasha was lying low in North Carolina. Other than her communicating back and forth with Clint, her life was pretty mundane. She was staying in a divvy motel, and the pool wasn't even open anymore. The leaves on the trees were beginning to shift from green to vibrant yellows and oranges and reds. She spent her days in coffee shops, reading the news.

She couldn't sleep at night. At best, she'd get three hours in. Some days she never fell asleep at all.

 _Sticks in the DNA_.

Natasha sighed.

To calm her twitching nerves at night, she would follow shifty figures around town. Sometimes they'd cause trouble, sometimes they wouldn't. Natasha never thought 'hindering house burglaries' or 'retrieving stolen purses' would become pastimes of hers, but here she was. With a bandana over her mouth and nose, no less.

The current thug she was dealing with felt pretty powerful because he had a knife in his hand. She rolled her eyes. He was holding it wrong. Also, he was drunk. He wouldn't've stood a chance sober, but he was seriously only making things easier for her. She had let the goon corner her into a dark alley—away from civilians and any witnesses who may begin to suspect she was more than just a tourist.

"Didn't your mother teach you not to assault people?" Natasha asked with a quirked eyebrow, "Especially women." He was about to learn his lesson the hard way—not only did the man assault a helpless woman right in front of her mere minutes ago, but now was attempting to assault _her._

The man roared and swung at her with the knife in a wide arc. She easily dodged the attack and kicked the knife out of his hand. He gaped at the fallen weapon, now far out of his reach. She surged forward with successive jabs to his chest and abdomen. The man staggered backwards and she snapped her elbow forward to meet his face. He fell backwards into a pile of garbage and didn't get back up.

Her phone beeped. It was Clint.

 _What's your current situation?_

Natasha snapped a selfie with the knocked out asshole and sent it to Clint.

Seconds later Clint was calling her. She slipped the bandana down.

"Hey." She said, walking out of the alleyway and sliding out onto Main Street where the only light came from lampposts and the blinking neon 'open' signs on the many bars in this town. She smoothed back her hair and readjusted her hoodie.

"Natasha, I have some information on Ross."

"Last time you called me about Ross it was to tell me what a dick he is."

"And? That's important information."

"And obvious information. The man can't be trusted, even Tony is beginning to see it. Do you have anything useful to tell me this time around?" Natasha walked down the street a few more paces until she arrived at the motorcycle she'd stolen in New York. She straddled it, prepared to leave this town as soon as her conversation with Clint ended. Her duffle bag full of her supplies was strapped securely to the back of the bike.

"Ross was the head of the Gamma Bomb Project—"

"—in 2003 when Bruce turned into the Hulk. The entire world is aware of this."

"Yes, but his patterns following Bruce's initial transformation border obsessiveness. Banner was working in a bottle factory in Rio—cut off from the world, doing no harm, and learning to meditate like some damned monk. Ross sent a SWAT team after him and was the cause of many Hulk transformations, and why? Because he didn't like that Bruce had a thing for his daughter? I don't think so."

"Bruce's power intimidated him; he wanted it to be in check."

"Bruce _had_ it in check. Ross wanted to _weaponize_ him."

Natasha stiffened.

"Send your information to Tony." She paused for a moment, "And Steve."

"Will do. Nat?"

"Yeah?"

"Look out for the team?"

"What exactly do you think this conversation has been about?" She ignored the fact that they could hardly call themselves a team anymore.

"The team includes you, Nat."

Natasha rolled her eyes, but smiled.

"I'm a big girl, Clint. I take care of myself just fine. Tell Laura and the kids that I miss them."

"Sure thing."

Natasha hung up the phone, stuck her head into her motorcycle helmet, and sped away.

* * *

She drove until she made it to Missouri and found the first small town with a motel. She showered immediately and then settled in for the night.

* * *

She woke up to the sound of her phone ringing. Confused, she reached for it. Clint shouldn't be calling her so soon and Fury only called her when he was in deep shit. She flicked her eyes across the screen—it was a number that she didn't recognize. She was wary of numbers that she didn't recognize. But the only people who could have possibly come across her number would have had to get it through Clint or Nick. She glanced again at her phone; it was November 11th and 8:07 a.m. and the high for the day was 59 degrees.

She swiped across the green.

"Hello?" She asked, guarded.

"Natasha?"

"Steve?"

There was a heavy sigh; he sounded relieved.

"Why are you calling me, Steve? Did Clint give you my number?" She was growing annoyed at how good of friends Steve and Clint were becoming. Their antics usually led to headaches for all involved.

"He might have." He responded, not answering her first question. "But how are you, Nat? You're safe, right?" Natasha remained silent. "Right. You can take of yourself. I was only wondering. Clint told me about Ross and Bruce."

"And what do you think about it?"

"If Ross's intentions were to weaponize the Hulk, then my worry for the Avengers just tripled." He sighed again, "Natasha, I need your help."

She didn't like the tone of voice he was using. It was his tactical voice. His Captain America voice. And Captain America was a fugitive; and so was she. "No." She told him, emphatically.

"You haven't even heard me out." He sounded dejected, but unsurprised.

"I don't need to. I know you."

"Yes." He agreed, "You do. And you know that I won't stop. Not when something needs to be done and I'm the only one who can do it." He sighed again, this time with a hint of sadness, "But I can't punch my way through this one. I need your help."

She went through a mental list of people with the same skillset as herself. It was unhelpfully short. "Clint can help with whatever it is. Or T'Challa."

"Clint has a family to watch over. T'Challa is busy with a kingdom."

Natasha sat up on the bed and tossed her legs over the side until they hit the ground. She got up and went towards the bathroom. Just as she was walking past the kitchenette, there was a loud thump from upstairs—someone in the floor above her must have dropped something.

"What does this have to do with Clint's tip?"

"Ross wants leverage over us all. And what for?"

"To weaponize us," Natasha supplied, pieces slowly being put together.

"Exactly." There was a moment where Steve was silent over the line of the phone; Natasha even checked to see if their call was lost. But then Steve began to speak again, "He's already manipulating Tony and, by extension, Vision. But who do you think he'll go after next?"

"The next easiest to be manipulated."

"Bucky."

"Bucky." She agreed. "But he's safe with T'Challa. Ross can't get to him."

"Bucky won't be stuck on ice forever, Nat." His voiced sounded strained. "He made the decision to sleep so as to not bring harm to anyone's lives while his mind is so vulnerable. I need to find out how to remove HYDRA's programming before Ross can get his clutches on him. Natasha. I trust you the most. Please."

Natasha stared at herself in the mirror. She looked more like a persona than herself and she wondered what she ever did to earn Steve's trust. She pressed the speaker button and put the phone on the counter. She started running the bath at the hottest temperature, needing to relax.

"Steve," She said, pulling her hair up into a ponytail, "What you're asking will not only put you and I at risk, but all of the Avengers. Tony and Rhodey and Vision. Ross has them at duress. And the manhunt for Wanda and Clint and Sam and Lang will be driven forward in full force."

"And the manhunt for you and me."

"Yeah, you're really convincing me here." She said, dry as the desert. She huffed, annoyed that he always teases her in such a way that she can't resist to tease him right back. "The answer is no." They were silent for a minute. "But call me if you need someone to talk to."

"Of course."

"Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"No promises." He forced out a quiet laugh, "Have a good day, Natasha."

"You too."

The call ended.

* * *

After her bath, Natasha slipped on her disguise for this town. Plaid shirt, jeans, and a cowboy hat—it shouldn't draw attention to her in here. Dressed like that on her bike might turn a few heads though, so she opted to walk. There weren't too many people who lived in this town in the first place, and hardly any of them were out on the road. One, two, three cars had passed her in a rush of wind, each blasting some country song she didn't know.

As she got closer to the small shopping area downtown, she noticed a man sitting outside of a gas station with a cardboard box at his feet. On the box in bold letters read the words 'puppies for sale'. As Natasha grew closer, she sent the man a friendly nod.

"Care for a puppy?" The man inquired.

Natasha peered into the box and her heart squeezed as seven puppies wagging their tails scrambled to the edge of the box to stand up on their haunches and yip at her. And to yip at each other.

 _Fucking adorable._

"No, thank you." She said, looking past the man and into the gas station. There were newspapers hung up on the window and her eyebrows furrowed at today's headline, "They're precious little things though. Have a good day."

As she got closer to the grocery store, her phone began to ring.

"Who is it now?" She asked the air as she fished her phone out of her back pocket. She blinked at the caller ID and then answered the phone. "Nick?" She asked, wondering why the hell the former SHIELD director was calling her.

"Romanoff." Fury replied, "Been reading the news lately?"

"Stephen Strange emerges as a superhero." She paraphrased the newspaper she'd just caught a glance at. She thought back to Sitwell giving them information on Project Insight, "Zola was right. Ross after him yet?"

"Do Asgardians live in Asgard?"

Natasha snorted, "Why are you telling me this?"

"Just because SHIELD was destroyed doesn't mean I don't still keep an eye on things. And people. I've been in contact with Strange." Fury snorted, "He's an asshole. But a smart asshole that happens to be concerned with the state of the universe."

"We already know an asshole like that. He created a murder bot that blew an entire city to hell. Remember?" She walked through the sliding doors of the grocery story, grabbed a cart and started weaving through the isles.

"How could anyone forget?" Fury retorted, "But Strange understands more about the universe than Stark does. He—shit, I have to call you back." Fury hung up, leaving Natasha, who had been looking over the nutrition facts on a box of cereal, staring at her phone in irritation. She continued shopping, only grabbing as much as she could carry back to her motel room. She paid for her items and left. She nodded to the man with his puppies again, and the little things yipped and yipped as she walked by.

When she got back to the motel, she poured herself a bowl of cereal and sat in front of the couch. When she turned on the news, Stephen Strange's face assaulted her vision. The words at the bottom of the screen affirmed that the world, indeed, wanted him to sign the Accords. It also affirmed that the doctor's current location was unknown and that no one had seen the man since a small incident in Asia.

Her phone buzzed. She cursed. Why was she so popular today?

It was a text message from Steve.

 _Are you sure?_

She sighed and typed back.

 _Yes._

She couldn't wait for it to get dark so she could find some thug's face to smash her fist into.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Natasha woke up to her phone ringing again. She groaned, snatching the phone off her bedside table and answering the call without looking at who it was. "Why the hell are so many people calling me lately?" She asked whoever was on the other side of the phone, "I'm trying to keep a goddamn cover."

"Uh," A deep voice rang through the air, and Natasha's eyes snapped open. "Sorry?" Steve sputtered, "Are you compromised?"

"Not yet. I might be if you keep calling me. What do you want today, Steve?"

"Today? We haven't been in contact for months." Steve sounded sincerely confused, which made Natasha confused. She took the phone away from her ear and stared at the screen. 8:07 a.m. That was the only information on display since she was on the phone with him. She brought the phone back up to her ear and chuckled into it.

"Ha ha, very funny. You called me yesterday morning."

"I did?" He asked. "Maybe it was an accident," he muttered to himself.

"Yeah. You called me about Clint's tip."

There was silence on the other end of the line, "I didn't get Clint's tip until late last night."

Natasha's brow furrowed as she stared up at the ceiling. As if on cue, there was a loud thump from upstairs. Someone dropping something. She gaped, feeling suddenly lightheaded. She looked at her phone again, swiping at the screen until she was looking at the weather with today's date and forecast. November 11th. A high of 59 degrees. She stared at the screen in horror. What was happening? Was this some sort of elaborate joke that someone was pulling on her? Was she crazy to immediately jump to the conclusion that she'd somehow gone back in time to the previous morning? Was such a thing even possible?

"Nat? Natasha?" Steve's voice slowly faded back into her focus, "Natasha, are you okay? Nat?"

"Just peachy." She said in a quiet voice. "I know what you're about to ask. The answer is no."

"But Ross—"

"—can't get to Bucky right now. The answer is no. Stay safe, Steve." She hung up the phone.

She walked to the bathroom and filled up the bath once again—now she _really_ needed to relax.

* * *

She walked into town, because _damnit_ she needed food and the milk and cereal she'd bought yesterday was gone and the cash she'd used to pay for it was back in her wallet. One, two, three cars whooshed past her blaring the same country songs she'd heard yesterday and sure enough as she approached the gas station there was a man and some puppies waiting outside. She glanced to the newspapers on the window and the headlines were still all about Stephen Strange.

"Care for a puppy?"

The puppies yipped and yipped but she paid them no attention.

"No thanks," She said, not even looking at the man as she made her way to the grocery store.

Her phone rang and she answered it immediately.

"Nick." She said, "Have you been reading the news lately?"

Fury was silent for a moment, "Funny. I was about to ask you the same thing."

"Stephen Strange emerges as a superhero," She continued, repeating the same words from yesterday. Her thoughts were racing, still not quite adjusted to this interesting situation she was in. How the hell could she explain to anyone what was currently happening to her? Fury might believe her. Weird shit happens all the time with their crowd, but never weird shit like _this_.

"I've been in contact with him." Fury snorted, "He's an asshole. But a smart asshole that happens to be concerned with the state of the universe."

"Like Tony. Right." She nodded to herself, resolving to explain to Fury what was happening. "Nick, listen to me. What I'm about to tell you is going to sound insane, but I promise it is the absolute truth."

"Is it going to be more insane than alien armies and murderous robots—shit, I have to call you back."

"Wait!" She exclaimed, but he'd already hung up the phone.

She stormed into the store, bought her things and marched back to the motel. She was beyond annoyed. As she watched the same news as yesterday and angrily shoveled mouthfuls of Reese's Puffs into her face, the phone rang again. She blinked at it. This was different. Steve had texted her yesterday.

"Hello?" She asked between mouthfuls of cereal.

"So…" Steve said slowly, "Remember a couple of hours ago? That was weird."

"Steve, listen to me. Ross is dangerous. I'm not going to help you do anything that could potentially put our teammates at risk. And before you say it, Bucky is _not_ currently at risk. He's protected. By _T'Challa._ Nestled right in the middle of a Wakandan forest. Do not even start with me right now."

"…Still weird." Steve said, "How did you know what I was going to say?"

Natasha sighed, "We had this conversation yesterday."

"I'm positive that we didn't. Are you having Thor-like visions of the future?"

"No, I'm just reliving the past."

"…Okay? Are you being serious?"

Natasha ignored him, "Goodbye, Steve. The answer is still no."

She pushed the end button and groaned into her pillow.

* * *

Her eyes snapped immediately open to the sound of her ringtone. She reached for her phone and shoved it into her face so she could see the screen. Steve's unsaved number. November 11th. 8:07 a.m. High of 59 degrees. She growled in frustration, because it was happening _again_. She let the call go to her voicemail and waited for the thump from the ceiling. She didn't take a bath this morning, but still needed to get out to buy food. One, two, three cars pass her. Puppies are yipping.

"Care for a puppy?"

She ignored the man and kept on walking.

When Fury calls she cuts straight to the chase, "I think I'm stuck in a time-loop." She doesn't bother to keep her voice down. At this point, she didn't really care who heard her. Besides, she was probably just going to wake up on the 11th again tomorrow.

"…crazier things have happened." Nick's deep voice replied. She was just outside of the store, and she stopped by the carts to talk.

"Oh, yeah?" She asked, "Like what?"

"I'll get back to you on that. What makes you certain?"

"Well, considering this is the third time I'm experiencing November 11th this year…Also can I just say that this is the most boring day of my damned life? Seriously the only thing that happens is that I get a bunch of phone calls, walk by some puppies and eat a shit ton of cereal."

"You could eat something else today."

"Fuck you."

"Sorry that I'm at a loss on how to help you here. Not exactly my area of expertise—shit—"

"—yeah, yeah, you'll call me back. Goodbye, Fury."

She hung up and noticed one of her notifications. Steve had left her a voicemail earlier. She sighed and pushed a couple of buttons and then brought the phone to her ear.

" _Hey, Nat. Call me._ "

She groaned, got her groceries, and went back to the motel.

* * *

Steve picked up after two rings.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me."

"Natasha!" Steve exclaimed happily. "How are you?"

Natasha chewed on her lip, debating whether she should tell Steve. And then remembering her predicament, she figured why the hell not. "I'm pissed at the universe." Steve chuckled awkwardly, and she took that as her queue to elaborate. Natasha's cynical sense of humor was making a surface, except she didn't care because it was _hilarious_ because Steve didn't have a clue what she was about to unleash, "I'm currently reliving this very day for the third time. Go on. Ask me what the hell is happening."

"Uh…" Steve began, "What the hell is happening, Natasha?"

" _I don't fucking know_."

"So you're…serious?"

"As serious as Vision."

"That's pretty damn serious."

"I'm in a time-loop, Steve. And I'm the only one who remembers anything. You called me because you need my help to retrieve information on Barnes's programming. It was in response to Clint's tip he sent you last night."

"Yeah, that's why I called…and what did you have to say?

"I told you no. Insistently and repeatedly."

Steve didn't say anything for a moment. And then, "A time-loop?"

"Yes."

"Like in that one movie you all made me watch?"

"Yes."

"Out of seemingly nowhere?"

"That's right."

" _Why_?"

"Like I know!"

"Okay." Steve said calmly, almost as if he were reassuring himself, "Okay. There has got to be a logical explanation for this."

"How is anything about this logical?" Natasha snapped.

"I didn't say I know what it is—but time-loops don't just spontaneously happen." Steve retorted with all the sass he could muster up, "Also, no? Insistently?"

"And repeatedly."

* * *

Natasha was beginning to hate that ringtone. She erupted out of bed to have the same conversation with Steve for the fourth day in a row. High of 59. A thump from the ceiling. A hot bath. One, two, three cars. "Care for a puppy?" Fury calls, "—shit, I'll call you back." Stephen Strange on the news. Cereal. Steve texts, _are you sure?_ Natasha pounds some faces in during the night. She falls into bed. She wakes up to her phone ringing at 8:07 a.m.

She's not sure how much more of this she can take before it drives her clinically insane.

* * *

One day she tries to stay up all night—how can she wake up to her phone ringing if she never falls asleep? It was a foolproof plan. Except at precisely 3:26 in the morning, she was hit with a powerful wall of drowsiness and fell asleep despite her perfect plan.

* * *

"Care for a puppy?"

"Why the hell not?"

* * *

On the tenth day of this nonsense, Natasha texts _yes, I'm sure_ to Steve exactly one minute before he typically texts her just to mess with him. Seconds later, he responds.

 _You read my mind :(_

* * *

"I just want my cereal to still be there in the morning," Natasha commented to Steve with a pout on the sixteenth day.

Natasha had to hand it to Steve. For someone who Natasha didn't bother to explain a thing to anymore, he was taking all her weird comments in good humor. His chortle was a puzzled one, "Then you have to respect it the night before, Tash." He's never called her _that_ before. It made her lips pull up into a small smile. "The way I'd respect a lady. Anyways, are you drunk?"

* * *

The next day she found herself face to face with a box of Frosted Flakes.

"I respect you," She said to it, "And I promise to treat you nicely. Just don't _leave_ me again."

She ignored the weird looks she got from other shoppers around her.

* * *

Every time she tried to pull an all-nighter, she couldn't stay up past 3:26 a.m.

* * *

"Romanoff." Fury greeted through the phone while she was outside the grocery store, "Have you been reading the news lately?"

At that moment, a thought occurred to Natasha. She cursed herself for not having seen it sooner.

"Strange." She muttered to herself, "Fury," She addressed him, "What _exactly_ is Stephen Strange capable of?"

"He's a student of the mystic arts; from my understanding, an extremely gifted one." Nick chuckled, "I don't know how much you knew about him before his accident, but he's an asshole—"

"—but a smart asshole that happens to be concerned with the state of the universe. Yeah, yeah. But what exactly do 'the mystic arts' entail?"

"Conjuring matter as shields and weapons, manipulation of space and reality—"

"And time?"

"I suppose."

"Nick, you're in contact with Strange, correct?"

"I am. Why?"

"Relay a message to him. Today, please. Tell him I'm looking for him."

"Why the hell would you be—shit, I'll call you back."

* * *

Nothing changed. She wakes up the next day on November 11th and who knows how many times she's lived through this day by now. She stopped counting at twelve. Natasha could cry with how badly she wanted to be ripped from this stupid cycle.

She comes home with a rotisserie chicken instead of cereal but she hadn't purchased a puppy this time around.

Having consigned herself to her fate, and knowing exactly what happens at each time and place of the day, you couldn't really blame Natasha for jumping a foot in the air when she walked into her motel room and found Stephen Strange sitting on her couch. His cape was floating in the kitchen, opening and closing the cupboards lazily. Normally she wouldn't be startled, but this entire situation has forced Natasha to relax on the whole 'perimeter' thing she and every spy had going on. If she hadn't been followed and attacked the first November 11th, she wasn't going to be followed and attacked in any of the subsequent November 11th's.

"There you are!" He exclaimed, standing up, "I heard that you were looking for me?"

Natasha narrowed her eyes, and shot forward to strangle him with her thighs. His legs gave out from underneath him, and Natasha had him pinned to the couch in record time. "You asshole," she stated in anger, "This is all your fault. There's no other explanation that I can come up with—you're to blame for why I found myself in a time-loop like fucking Bill Murray."

Stephen struggled underneath her grip, "Now hold on! Hold on! You can't automatically assume I had anything to do with this—I'm not the only one studying the mystic arts! I didn't do a _thing_ …purposefully." Natasha twisted his wrist and the doctor cried out in pain, "Okay, okay! I might have an inkling as to why this is happening to you. Can you let go of me so that I can explain?"

Natasha pushed off of him roughly. Stephen rubbed his wrists. To his cape, "Thanks for helping me out there!" The cape was shaking, almost like it was laughing, "No really, you care so much." He turned back to Natasha, who had an eyebrow quirked, "I may have used a spell to go back in time once or twice—found myself caught in a time-loop myself. At the end of each loop I died in an extremely excruciating manner, so count yourself lucky."

"How do I escape this?" She growled, itching to throw a knife at this man.

"Well, something in the universe must be off balance. Probably my bad, since meddling with time is a huge no-no."

"You're here though." Natasha pointed out, "Does this time-loop not affect you?"

"Spells." He answered, waving his hand to dismiss the conversation.

"How can I make things right?" She was finally getting somewhere, at least.

Stephen stretched out on the couch, slinging an arm around the back of it, "Well what factors of your days are _you_ staying the same on? It probably has to do with that. One day you don't answer the phone, one day you purchase a dog, one day you buy chicken instead of cereal." He raised an eyebrow at her chicken. "But those differences didn't end up making much of a difference, did they?"

Realization dawned on Natasha. She was starting to get a headache just thinking about what he was implying.

"You're telling me that all I have to do to get out of this godforsaken time-loop is to say 'yes' to Captain America?" Stephen nodded, "It's really that easy?" Another nod. "There's got to be a catch."

"No catch, Romanoff. Well, other than you being stuck on a mission with Captain America." Strange told her, standing up and waving his hand into a circle in front of him. A bright orange ring of magic appeared before them, and Natasha looked through the portal and saw a dusty library. "The universe is simply try to steer you onto the correct path." He reached his arm out, and his cape came flying towards him. It curled itself around the doctor like it'd been doing it for centuries. Then Strange stepped through the portal, turned around to wink at Natasha, and then vanished in a spark of orange light.

One day, Natasha was going to punch that man in the face.

Natasha collapsed onto her bed and called Steve.

He answered after two rings just like she knew he would.

"Nat?"

"Steve, hey. I changed my mind."

* * *

The next morning, Natasha woke up to the sunlight hitting her eyes through the parted curtain and _not_ to the sound of the phone ringing. Steve had wanted to meet up as quickly as possible, but Natasha insisted that they wait until the next day. She wanted to revel in her newfound freedom.

"в конце концов." She murmured to herself. She curled herself into the sheets, content in knowing that there was still a rotisserie chicken in her mini fridge and that she didn't need to run down to the store this morning. She checked her phone—November 12th. A high of 61 degrees, with a 30% chance of rain.

She texted Steve.

 _I'm on my way. Be there in 9 hours._

A moment later Steve responded.

 _Thank you, Natasha._

She smiled, gathered her things into her duffle bag, and decided she would shower later. In reality she'd only spent a day here, but Natasha feels like she's been here for _months_. She couldn't wait to get out of this town.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Nine hours and a sore butt later, she found herself in Minnesota. The first thing she did when she got within an hour of Steve's coordinates was stop at Target to buy some warmer clothes. Natasha had a feeling Steve chose a Minneapolis suburb to lie low in because of the inordinate amount of time he could spend ice fishing without venturing too far from his safe house. Also, it'd be hard to recognize _anyone_ through the numbers of layers that needed to be worn to keep warm here. And no one in their right mind would willingly go to Minnesota as winter is on the horizon unless they already lived there and therefore was the last place anyone would think to look for him.

It was brilliant, but Natasha wouldn't let him know how impressed she was with his location choice because smug was too good of a look on Steve and she really could go without the distraction. Especially after her traumatizing stay in Missouri that she hadn't yet recovered from. She was here, after all, against her better judgment and only because the universe metaphorically twisted her arm.

Which, she's got to say, she's pretty impressed with the universe 'cause _no one_ twists her arm unless she allows them to.

The coordinates Steve had given her led her to an abandoned warehouse. All the entrances were locked, but Natasha spotted a board nailed to the side of the building. She pulled a device from her belt and got to work on unscrewing the nails. When she tossed the board aside, sure enough, there was a Steve-sized hole. Natasha could picture Steve diving into the side of the building, not with his shield because last she heard Tony was in possession of it, but with something similar. Natasha stepped back a few yards, and then charged at the building, diving through the hole elegantly and rolling onto her knees.

She stood up and pulled out her phone and turned its flashlight on to survey. The warehouse was empty save a number of busted pallets and a twin mattress that Steve had obviously dragged in here. There were bags of nonperishable food next to the bed, and Natasha thought that was silly because it was cold enough in here to have whatever the hell kind of food you wanted without it going bad.

There was a small circle of rocks on the cement floor with black soot inside of it and Natasha giggled at the thought of Captain America literally camping inside of a warehouse.

Steve was clearly out on some sort of errand, so Natasha decided to make herself comfortable. She really had no excuse for being so exhausted, but she didn't care. She crawled into the bed, not bothering to peel off any layers of her clothing, and folded the blankets that smelt like Steve around her, and closed her eyes. Despite the blankets, it was still cold but she somehow managed to drift off without too much trouble. In her hazy mind, she knew that the sun was quickly setting and that Steve would surely be back soon.

She fell asleep.

* * *

She woke up to a warm hand on her cold skin. She didn't jolt, just peeked an eye open to see Steve hovering over her with an electric lantern in hand. He was dressed in a down coat with the hood down, but he had a thick beanie on and a scarf over his mouth. There was dirt on his face and holes in his gloves and Natasha delightedly thought he looked homeless. He was holding out a steaming cup of something to her and Natasha could smell pizza. She sat up and took the cup from him and brought it to her lips without saying a word of greeting to him. Hot chocolate. Figures. It wasn't coffee, but at least it warmed her up.

Steve reached up to pull down his scarf. He'd let his beard grow out, Natasha assumed so that people wouldn't recognize him, and it only made him look even more like a homeless man. An attractive homeless man, at least. He smiled at her, and Natasha had to look away from the sincere warmth in his eyes—the gratitude that she was here and helping him. And it stung, because she would do a lot of things for Steve's trust but it took the universe screwing her over via time loop and a stupid _look_ to remind her of that.

"Sorry it's so cold," He said, "The electricity doesn't work here anymore, but I can get a fire started." She glanced behind him and noticed that he brought back a few bundles of firewood.

"I'm Russian," She reminded him, "I know cold."

"Right." He said as he built a teepee of wood inside the ring of stones, and began to drench it in lighter fluid.

"I like your beard," She told him as he pulled out a match from one of his pockets, lit it and dropped it on the wood. It immediately burst into flames and Natasha could feel the heat from the flames against her cheekbones.

"I like your haircut," He retorted with a quirked eyebrow, "Pizza?"

She accepted the food, and ate graciously. They sat in companionable silence for a while, just watching the flames lick at the frigid air.

She glanced at her phone. It was 10:37 p.m.

"What time are we leaving in the morning?" She inquired.

"Early. I called in a few favors; Scott's got a chopper lined up for us just south of here. It's hidden in a cornfield that wasn't harvested for whatever reason."

"Scott? Ant-man? _He's_ got a chopper lined up for us?"

"Well," Steve smirked, "Hank Pym lined it up for us."

Natasha nodded. That made more sense. "We better get some rest, then."

Steve nodded, ""I'll explain what we're up against in the morning. Too tired. I'll take the floor."

"Don't be ridiculous," Natasha rolled her eyes, "The floor is cement and colder than ice, you don't have a blanket, and the thing that's going to keep us _both_ the warmest is going to be sharing body warmth." They were both still fully dressed in full winter gear, and Natasha immediately began to strip off the heavier layers. Steve followed suit, blushing. She scooted over on the bed to make room for him, lifting the blanket in invitation. He crawled in next to her and wrapped the blanket around the both of them. She crinkled her nose.

"You need to shower."

"Where, exactly?" He inquired sassily, tucking her head underneath his chin. She smirked; his smell wasn't exactly unpleasant, but it was fun to tease him. Even if he was smelly in a bad way, his warmth was delicious and it wouldn't have stopped her from pressing her body directly to his.

"We can stop briefly at a hotel or something."

"Sure." He replied, already drifting off.

"To be efficient, we should shower together."

"Sleep, Natasha." Steve said in his Captain America voice.

She laughed innocently, "Goodnight, Steve."

The fire kept burning, until only embers were left and even those died after a while.

* * *

When Natasha woke up Steve's arms were around her waist, and her palm was resting on his side. Their legs were tangled together and Steve was a space heater and she's never been quite this warm before. She wasn't surprised she'd woken up first. She'd slept a lot the previous day, and she'd been exhausted. She's convinced that, while the world doesn't seem to remember the countless days she spent in Missouri, her _body_ sure does.

She knew it was early and that it was time for them to go. She reached up to grip Steve by the shoulders and shook him awake. It only took a moment for him to shake away his sleep (comes with the job description).

"Five more minutes," He muttered, surprising Natasha by nuzzling into her hair and tightening his arms around her. "You're warm."

"And you stink."

"Don't care."

"If only the world knew how much of a baby you are." She murmured, pushing against his chest in an ill attempt at freeing herself from his grasp. It didn't work, and Natasha was ready to whip out one of her patented moves to incapacitate him but Steve began to retreat with a whimper. Natasha rolled her eyes, "Whining only further proves that you're five."

"You're mean in the morning." He stated, sitting up and immediately reaching for his discarded winter gear.

"And _you_ only pretend to be a morning person."

* * *

They hopped on her bike, Steve's arms wrapped around her waist. They looked comical, considering there was snow on the ground and it was freezing and they were on a _bike_ and they looked like marshmallows with all the layers they had on, but it was early and still dark and there wasn't anyone on the streets to see them.

"You weren't kidding about the shower." Steve stated when they rolled up to a shoddy Quality Inn. Like hell Natasha was going to be traveling around with him when he probably hasn't showered in days—possibly weeks. They parked the bike, paid for a room, and hurried up the stairs to their door.

"Do you have a change of clothes?" She asked him once they were inside and he was removing his shirt on the way to the bathroom. Her eyes snapped to the muscles on his back for a moment as he worked at his belt buckle.

He glanced at her from over his shoulder, holding his pants up while removing his belt, "I don't."

"You shower." She commanded, "I'll go find you something."

He nodded and stepped into the bathroom. She went out the door and hurried to the closest Wal-Mart. Steve likes Wal-Mart. She bought him a Spider-man t-shirt in the largest size they had, a pair of jeans, a new pair of boxers, a hoodie and some knock off vans. She also bought a new outfit for herself. She rushed back to the hotel and entered their room right as he opened the door to the bathroom a crack and steam emerged from inside. She threw the items of clothing at the door and plopped herself on the bed to wait for him to get dressed.

When he surfaced from the bathroom, he had an eyebrow raised and was gesturing to his shirt, "Really?" He asked, indignant.

She smirked back, "What? After the Accords, most of us were put in jail and they stop selling t-shirts that advertise for criminals."

He rolled his eyes, "Get in the shower."

She strolled passed him and into the bathroom. She took a quick shower, not even bothering to wash her hair since she'd done so yesterday. She pulled on her fresh clothing and reemerged from the bathroom to find Steve putting the last of his winter gear on. Natasha followed his example and soon they were back on her bike; it was still dark out but they could see the sun beginning to lighten the sky in the east. Natasha followed the coordinates Scott had sent to Steve and they were barreling down quiet roads with farms on either side of them. They eventually found the cornfield with the chopper.

"Where are we headed?" Natasha asked.

"Berlin."

Natasha's eyes narrowed.

They ditched her bike in the field, Natasha got in the cockpit and the rotors of the helicopter began to spin until they were going fast enough to provide them with lift. Soon, they were high in the air. Natasha found a switch that engaged stealth mode and straightway activated it; the flight to Berlin was approximately eleven hours and she needed information pronto. As soon as she could, she punched in the coordinates and set the helicopter to autopilot so that she could climb into the back and sit across from him.

"What's in Berlin?" She queried, already knowing what he was going to say.

"Zemo." He answered, shifting slightly and causing their knees to brush, "He knew a lot about HYDRA. And a lot about Bucky. He knew the words to trigger his programming."

"And so you assume he knows how to remove Bucky's programming." Natasha huffed, "And that he'll give us that information. We're talking about the guy who bombed the U.N. and incited Tony to fight you two to the death, right? And you think he'll willingly give you what you want?"

"How did you—"

"Clint and T'Challa told me about it."

"Why do you think I asked you to come with me?" Steve replied in answer to her initial question, "You can read people. We don't have to get all the answers from him—we just need to know where his intelligence came from so that we can find it, apply it, and then destroy it."

"You could have brought Wanda. She literally reads minds."

Steve sighed and leaned forwards so as to grab her shoulders. His blue eyes bore into hers intently, "I already told you, 'Tash. There's no one I trust more than you. I brought you with me because you know me and I know you'll have my back. Ever since this all began, you've had my back." Something in his eyes flashed, and Natasha knew that he was thinking back to Berlin when she'd stopped T'Challa and let Steve and Bucky escape on the quinjet. Even when she was fighting against him, she'd had his back.

Natasha smiled.

"Well," She began, mischief bubbling beneath her skin, "What's the plan then, Captain?"

His answering smile was blinding.

* * *

"According to T'Challa, Zemo is being held in the same facility that Bucky was taken to. Same subdivision too. Infiltration will be simple. We need to loop the cameras and mute their audio. Can you hack into their systems?"

Natasha nodded, "We'll need to find a library, somewhere with a computer we can use. But it will likely tip them off. We'll need to steal a car in order to make a speedy getaway."

" _Borrow_ a car."

Natasha rolled her eyes.

"Borrow a car, whatever."

"Tipping them off will likely draw a fair amount of agents away from the facility; we'll slip into the ventilation system and bypass another chunk of agents."

"Can your shoulders even fit into the vents?"

"They'll have to." It was Steve's turn to roll his eyes, "The vents are protected by laser screens; you'll need to disable those as well. It likely won't last long before they reboot everything, so we'll have to work quickly. Once we hit Zemo's subdivision, it'll be impossible not to engage the agents posted to guard him. We'll need to be quiet and efficient; we can't give them any opportunity to tell their buddies that we're on the base—we'll be cornered if they do. We interrogate. We leave. Simple as that."

Natasha shrugged, "Shouldn't be a problem."

* * *

And it wasn't. It was as easy as they had expected it to be. Although the vents did pose a small problem, and Natasha had to hold back a laugh at the way Steve wiggled through the enclosed space like an inchworm. Everything worked out perfectly and they found themselves face to face with Helmut Zemo, a trail of knocked out CIA agents behind them.

She sighed internally. Right. This is where it became tricky.

"Zemo." Steve greeted in his most intimidating voice. Zemo jumped at his voice, clearly not expecting he and Natasha to be the ones swaggering towards his cage. Steve plowed on, focused on his goal, "Where did you learn about the Winter Soldier's programming?"

"Captain Rogers," He replied in his thick accent, "I had thought, perhaps, that we'd never meet again. What a pleasant surprise." Zemo eyed his beard in appreciation, "I see that the life of a criminal has suited you."

"I see that the life behind a glass cage hasn't suited you," Steve regarded, taking note of how Zemo looked paler and thinner since their last little rendezvous.

The Sokovian lowered his head, "Perhaps the Black Panther was right." He smirked, but there wasn't any real emotion behind it, "Revenge consumed me—and it's still consuming me. In the form of consequence to my actions. It will never stop." He snapped his eyes up to meet Steve's, "You want to know where I learned of your friend's trigger words. I will tell you."

Natasha and Steve blinked at him in awe.

"You…will?"

"I will."

Steve turned to Natasha as if to have her confirm whether or not Zemo was being for real. Natasha couldn't read any signs of him lying, but this only made her more wary. Either this guy was telling the truth or knew how to be unreadable, and the second option had the potential to be extremely dangerous.

"Black Widow published all of HYDRA's secrets to the world. Many of them were encrypted—but eventually I found what I was looking for. The Red Book contains all of the secrets about the Winter Soldier. I'd left it behind in Siberia. I'd venture a guess and say that it fell into Stark's possession; you wouldn't be here, otherwise. If Stark had it—"

"Then Ross has it." Natasha supplied.

Steve groaned.

"So Tony could have it, Ross could have it, or it could still be floating around Siberia." Steve rubbed his temples, "Perfect."

"Hey," Natasha said calmly, putting a warm hand on his back, "This _is_ perfect. We've got a few leads. All we can do is continue to follow the breadcrumbs and if they lead us to a dead end then we'll turn around and start over. He's telling the truth, though. I don't know for what purpose, but he's being honest. It's disconcerting, that's for sure…but helpful." She turned towards Zemo to regard him one last time and then turned back to Steve, "Let's get out of here."

Steve nodded.

Zemo could only watch as they fled.

* * *

Natasha could tell that Steve was feeling a bit overwhelmed. Infiltrating a CIA base to talk to a criminal was one thing—infiltrating the Avengers facility and even stealing from the Secretary of State were two drastically different concepts. They both knew that such a task would require much more than just the two of them, but Steve was unwilling to risk anyone else's freedom in this operation.

She glanced at him—Steve, it seems, has a knack for finding emptied warehouses to lay low in and he was currently doing push-ups relentlessly as he brainstormed their next strategy. Natasha didn't dare to interrupt. Besides, she was brainstorming her own strategies. There were three options, and right now her gut was telling her that Ross was the one in possession of the 'Red Book'. Tony wouldn't keep it; it would bring up too many bad memories. But at the same time, she would feel infinitely more comfortable with that kind of information in Tony's hands rather than Thaddeus Ross's.

Their helicopter was low on gas, and they didn't exactly have a place to restock. Siberia was out of the question simply because of distance and their lack of resources. If they flew back to the states, they could get close enough to Maine where they could swim the rest of the distance and then _borrow_ a car to travel down New England.

Something occurred to Natasha at that moment. She stood up abruptly, causing Steve to falter in his rhythm as he glanced up at her. He was mid-pushup, drenched in sweat and staring at her curiously.

"I'm going to call in a favor." She told him, reaching for her phone and dialing Fury's number. It rang three times.

"Romanoff," Nick said.

"Nick, hey," She said into the speaker, "Could you possibly give me Stephen Strange's contact information? He owes me." Steve looked confused. He was probably wondering when Natasha even had the opportunity to meet Stephen Strange, much less be in the position where he _owes_ her. Nick relayed the information that he had while Natasha jotted it down on her hand. They exchanged farewells, and Natasha hung up the phone.

"Stop working out," Natasha told Steve, "I figured it out. Also, you stink again."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

After getting off the phone with Nick, and finding an empty house for Steve to take another shower—the owners of the home fled for somewhere warm for a couple of weeks if the cruise pamphlets on the counter had anything to say about it—Natasha had called up Doctor Strange. When the call had finished, she sent him their coordinates and told him that they were currently in Berlin.

"He's on his way," She remarked to Steve, who was bundled up by the fire he'd built not too long ago.

"Who's on his way?" Steve inquired.

Natasha didn't reply, only smirked.

Thirty minutes later, someone was banging at the door. Natasha rose from her position on the ground to slink to the door, opening it. A man stepped through, a cloak fluttering behind him majestically. That was the first thing Steve noted about him. The second was his facial hair.

"Steven," Natasha said with a little quirk to her lips, addressing Steve, "Meet Stephen."

Both males groaned and Steve put his palm over his face in embarrassment for Natasha. The cloak draped around Strange's shoulders moved on it's own accord, and extended a fabric arm out to Steve. The blonde eyed it warily, before gingerly reaching out and giving it his hand. The cloak shook it enthusiastically, and then released him.

"You've been dying to use that one, haven't you?" Strange asked.

"I do _not_ go by Steven." The super soldier reminded from behind his hand, "You know I hate being called that, Natasha." He glared at her, and she blew him a kiss.

"What's wrong with Steven?" Strange looked offended, "It's a delightful name."

Steve shook his head, not wanting to grace that with a response. Natasha looked ecstatic.

"Let's focus on our mission." Steve rolled his eyes at Stephen and Natasha's pout, ignored Strange's muttered "stick in the mud," and put on his best Captain America voice, "Natasha informed me of some of your abilities. You are aware that helping us could lead to being put in prison?"

Stephen scoffed, "I'd like to see them try." He tugged at his cloak, and hung it in the air as if it were hanging on a hook, "They'd have to get through my cloak first, and it's very protective. Assuming they stood a chance against the Clock of Levitation and actually made it to me, they'd have to deal with my charming wit and let's face it—no one comes back from that without emotional instability unless I want them to." Steve couldn't even fathom it because the cloak certainly didn't have any human characteristics (expect that it was somehow _alive_ ), but he's pretty sure that it just _rolled its pretend eyes._

"Oh god, he's like another Tony." Steve remarked with wide eyes, suddenly frightened by the other man's strikingly familiar facial hair.

"Except with magic." Natasha agreed, and then thoughtfully, "And less baggage."

" _The point is_ —I do what I feel is right." Natasha raised an eyebrow, and Stephen amended, "Alright, sometimes it may take a little coaxing, duress, incentive, or inordinate amounts of guilt—"

"Oh my god, you're Tony." Steve repeated.

"But _most of the time_ I do it because I have this weird hero complex that I'm sure the two of you are intimately familiar with, and if I don't do these things…who will?" Steve was actually kind of impressed that Strange had that sort of insight—I mean, Steve came out of the womb with that mindset, but still. He was impressed. Stephen regarded them considerately, "Actually that doesn't make any sense, does it? Why even have a hero complex when there are _plenty_ of heroes already out there saving the day? God, what is wrong with me?"

Natasha rolled her eyes, "Before you second guess the course your life has taken—"

"Too late."

"—all we need is for you to open up one of those portals for us."

"Is that all you need?" Strange rolled his eyes at their ignorance, "You do realize that in order for me to open a portal I need to picture exactly where I want to go?"

"So?" Steve asked just to be a little shit. Natasha could tell by the glint in his blue eyes—and because he wasn't actually that dense.

" _So_ I need to have been to that place so that I can picture it precisely. You're lucky I've been to Berlin before, otherwise it would have taken me much longer to get here."

"Ever been to Siberia?" Steve queried.

"Why the hell would I ever go to Siberia?"

"You've got the magical capability of creating a portal to anywhere you want to go and you're telling _me_ that you haven't been to every nook and cranny this world has to offer?" Steve shook his head, "That's a tactical error on your part."

Stephen blinked, "Oh my god, you're right."

Natasha was amused at their banter, but also growing exasperated that they were hardly getting anywhere. Just as Steve opened his mouth, she plowed through their conversation, "What about a photograph? Would that be enough to create a portal to Siberia?"

"I suppose that would work."

"Great!" She clapped her hands, and then made a gimme-gimme motion with her hands to Steve, "Hand me your phone, Steven."

Steve froze and chuckled nervously, "Why would I have pictures of Siberia on my phone? I was there on a serious task…there wasn't any time for pictures…"

Natasha's answering laugh was drier than the flames of hell, "You're telling me that two of the Howling Commandoes, who filmed almost every single operation they ever had, and have enough black and white photos to fill a wealthy portion of the Smithsonian—and that was the _40's_ , Steve—didn't document a single thing from Siberia with your tremendously convenient cell phone that takes pictures in under a second?" Steve gulped and Strange was looking awfully uncomfortable, "I know you have a selfie of you and Barnes in Siberia, Rogers." She waved her hand impatiently, "Cough it up."

There was a terribly awkward moment where nobody moved. And then Steve sighed and pulled his phone from his jacket's pocket. He gave it to her, not bothering to unlock it—she'd guessed his passcode on the first try _months_ ago. She scrolled through his photos, paying close attention to the dates, and rolled her eyes because Steve took pictures of his meals like a seventeen-year-old girl _and_ had an entire story of pictures of him busting the Avengers out of the RAFT. Some of them were saved snapchats with captions like '#prisonbreak'. There was even one of Clint mid-Naruto run with the caption 'caw caw motherfuckers'.

"Did you send these to T'Challa?" She asked with a leer, "I'm offended that I didn't get any of these."

"Shut up, 'Tasha. You know I didn't have your number until Clint gave it to me," He grumbled.

"Here it is!" She exclaimed, finally finding a picture of Barnes and Steve in front of a dark reinforced door on a snowy mountaintop. Steve was looking intently into the camera with his freedom face on while Barnes was standing in the background with a gun in hand. It looked like Barnes had just turned around when Steve had snapped the picture, because his face clearly said 'will-you-please-stop'. She shoved the phone into Stephen's face who snickered at it.

"Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up. Just take us there, please." Steve insisted, irritated.

"No problem," Strange, still snickering like he was in kindergarten, made a circular motion with his hand and then a ring of orange magic formed in front of the trio, through which a cold breeze came through. Steve grabbed Natasha by the wrist to guide her through, but she stopped him with a hand on his chest.

"Wait!" She said, "We need to take a selfie first!"

Steve groaned, Strange threw up a peace sign, and Natasha winked at the camera as she pressed down the button to snap the picture. Steve was disappointed when he realized that Strange had to stick around for the rest of the operation.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Either the book wasn't here, or it was extremely well hidden. Natasha was inclined to believe that it just wasn't here, but Steve looked about two seconds away from just willing the damn thing to appear right in front of him. She sighed, watching as he searched on hands and knees with a flashlight in his mouth, and scrolled through the new pictures on her phone. She sent a few to Clint and then opened up temple run, glancing every few moments to Steve so that she could appreciate his ass sticking in the air.

Steve turned around and sent her the stern stare (with how frequently Steve used that face, she really needed to start capitalizing that in her head), "Are you playing temple run? At a time like this?"

"It's more entertaining than continuing to search this depressing hell hole."

Stephen snorted, as he picked through HYDRA files with interest. Every now again when something piqued his interest, he'd wave his hand at one of the files and then it would disappear to who knew where. Steve huffed, falling back onto his haunches and wiping the dust off of his knees. He opened his mouth, no doubt about to embark on an epic lecture about agency and freedom and the two-party system failing America.

Natasha decided to just stop him right there. She turned to Strange. "Can you just turn back time to right before Tony made Ultron? That would be great."

"You can turn back _time_?" Steve asked excitedly.

"He's not going to send you back to the 1940's, Steve."

Steve stuck his tongue out at her but shrugged. "It's probably for the best," he said, "I know too much now. But that's just so… _cool_. The coolest. Turning back time. Whew."

"You're a dork."

Strange ignored their banter and answered her initial question with another question, "Need I remind you of what happened last time I played with time? The phone calls, the puppies, the _cereal_ —?"

" _Don't_ bring up the cereal."

Strange didn't even realize that Natasha could kill him with a paperclip; he should not be playing with fire like this. But he only smirked at her, waving his hand at another file until it disappeared in a cloud of magic. Natasha blinked; it was a very _Tony_ thing to do except there weren't any complicated algorithms breaking through computer systems, just magical transference of very tangible very classified HYDRA files.

"You are seriously Tony but with magic."

"Would you guys stop saying that?" Strange asked, "Stark and I can't possibly be _that_ similar."

"Well, you have a few differences," Steve conceded, but the shit-eating grin on his face spoke volumes. And it was telling Natasha that Captain America was about to throw down the trash talk like he would a HYDRA goon. "Tony's funny. And his goatee works on him."

"Rude."

"Is that the crush you used to have on Tony I hear surfacing?" Natasha asked, seeing if Steve can take what he's dishing out.

Steve gasped in offense, "That was for, like, a _day_ , Natasha!"

"Are you sure? I've noticed that you have a thing for snarky loudmouths."

Steve grumbled under his breath, but it wasn't quiet enough that Stephen and Natasha couldn't hear. "You'd think because you notice so many of my quote-on-quote _things_ you'd noticed that I've had a thing for _you_." He paused in contemplation and added as an afterthought, "Some super spy _you_ are." He grumbled relentlessly, _did he even realize what he just said,_ and got back on his hands and knees and crawled around in continued search of the Red Book.

Natasha froze, for once in her life being caught off guard. She turned to Strange, whose eyebrows had shot up but was smirking at her. She flipped him off.

Natasha shook off the unexpected feelings being barreled her way and called after Steve, "It's not here, Steve! Get your fine ass over here so that we can come up with a strategy for our next move."

A sigh.

"Okay."

Strange's eyes widened suddenly; Natasha recognized an epiphany when she saw one and sure enough, "Google Earth! I can use Google Earth to get me anywhere I want to go!"

"Congrats." Steve muttered dryly, "I thought of that literally right after we got here, and I'm not even from this century."

Strange looked affronted, "Who would have known that Captain America is such an asshole?"

"He's America's asshole," Natasha agreed.

Steve rubbed at his temple, even though Natasha was almost positive he was incapable of getting headaches of any variety. "Um, strategy? Isn't that why I crawled over here?"

"Well, you didn't _have_ to crawl—"

"Oh my god, _shut up_." Steve growled, while Natasha tried to muffle her laughter and failed miserably. Or delightedly. "So I'm thinking the logical next step is to find the book among Ross's belongings—"

"How is that logical?" Natasha bristled immediately at his suggestion, "The man has a fucking giant prison in the middle of the _ocean_ —"

"Which I've already infiltrated once, _alone_ —"

"—that have cells with our fucking _names_ on them and he doesn't seem to care by what means we're put into said cells or if we even make it there before he _kills_ us—"

"—I've done a good job so far staying out of his clutches, I mean I grew a shitty beard for crying out loud—"

"—oh yeah because your shitty beard is the answer to all of our problems—!"

"—it was one small example among _others_ —"

"—and all your bright ideas have been working out _wonderfully_ —"

"—they call me the Star Spangled Man with a Plan for a reason—

"—you hate that name, don't pretend to like it now that it's convenient—

"—and _you_ like my beard, don't pretend you think it's shitty—!"

"—me liking your beard is neither here nor there, even if it _does_ accentuate your eyes—"

"My _God_ ," Stephen interrupted them both; they jumped looking to Strange and then to the other with heaving chests. They seemed surprised with how closely they were standing next to each other, noses almost brushing, and Steve immediately took a step back. "This is like watching _Whose Line is it Anyway?_ but with more vehemence and the sexual tension is less gay. Are you guys coming up with all of this on the spot?" He took off his cloak, and waved it over to the fighting duo. The cloak floated in between Natasha and Steve and placed its _totally not human_ 'hands' on their chests in case one of them leapt for the other's throat. Strange moved one of the filing boxes out of the way and sat down in its place. He crossed a leg and procured a tub of popcorn out of nowhere. "Please," He nodded at them and stuffed a handful in his mouth as if to say they could continue where they left off, "Just taking precautions." He raised an eyebrow at their guilty expressions, "Alright. Good. You done?" No response. "Can we talk about this like good little superheroes now?"

Natasha sighed in frustration. "Sorry," She told Strange, "Things have been… _tense_ since the Accords." She chuckled; good humor, that was a good sign, right? "You think we're bad, just wait until we run into Tony." She scowled at Steve again, "He's the reason you're dead set on going after Ross first, admit it."

Steve's mouth was a thin line. But then he sighed too, running a large hand through his blonde hair, "You might be on to something." The cloak rubbed soothing circles onto Steve's back. Steve wasn't sure if it was working or just creeping him the fuck out.

Natasha frowned, "Steve. What's the worst that he could do to you? Forgive you?"

Steve laughed bitterly, "You weren't here. You didn't see what happened. What I did."

"And what he did." Steve quirked his head to the side questioningly and Natasha placed a warm hand where his neck met his shoulder and squeezed. "You forgive him, right?" Steve nodded. "Then he'll forgive you, too."

Steve smiled the most heartbreaking smile, eyes gleaming with unshed tears and Captain America crying was quickly becoming Natasha's least favorite thing. He grabbed her hand and just sort of held on. Then his eyes flickered to Stephen who was sitting behind them awkwardly, pointedly staring at any place except them. The cloak drifted back to the doctor and even it looked uncomfortable with the public display of affection. Steve smirked at that thought and then cleared his throat and lowered Natasha's hand from its place on his chest, but didn't let go. Natasha wasn't really sure why she let him hold her hand, but she did.

"So…" Stephen said, allowing his cloak to drape itself over his shoulders, "Strategy?"

"Right."

* * *

It was decided that they would rest, and then initiate their plan tomorrow morning. They were going to infiltrate the Avengers facility, try their hardest to avoid any contact with Vision or Tony or Rhodey, and hopefully find the stupid Red Book that was quickly becoming a pain in Natasha's ass. Stephen created a portal for them to return to their warehouse in Berlin and informed them that he had things to do at his sanctuary in New York but that he would meet them in the morning. Natasha and Steve pretended to know what the hell he was talking about.

Natasha stared at Steve, once they were back in the warehouse, as he worked at the fire to get it going. Before he left Strange cast some sort of spell on the warehouse so that it would stay warm inside, but Steve was determined to roast some hot dogs over a fire and Natasha's rumbling stomach didn't protest. Besides, now Steve had shucked his jacket and she could watch his muscles work underneath his T-shirt.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," Steve said, rubbing two sticks together furiously to produce friction.

Natasha snapped her eyes away from his back, only for them to settle on his strong hands. "Yeah? Me too." Something was eating away at her mind, and she was trying so hard not to bring it up but she's pretty sure she was about to give in. She let out a shaky breath, "Do you really have a thing? For me?"

Steve blinked, turning his head so that he could glance at her from over his shoulder. His wide eyes softened after a moment, and he turned back to the task at hand. A tiny fire started, and Steve placed more kindling into the pit so that it would grow and last.

"Do you seriously recognize when other people go crazy about each other, but can't tell when someone is completely gone on you?" Steve laughed, "Yeah I have a thing." He winked at her, "For you." His shit-eating grin made a return, "Can't stop thinking about that kiss. You know? That one from two years ago. It lasted like three seconds. On the escalator? Hot damn."

Natasha laughed, " _Stop_."

Steve sobered up, "In all seriousness I really do love your company, 'Tasha. In whatever form you're most comfortable with. You're strong and funny and could kick my ass and you make me happy. So if you just want to be friends, that's all right with me. I know you had a _thing_ for Bruce. But the offer stands; I'd really love to take you out after all of this has settled. Or even before. You _do_ seem to like my shitty beard, after all." Steve grinned at her as he sat right next to her on the mattress.

Natasha leaned into him, overwhelmed with how grateful she was that someone like Steve could ever care for someone like her. She lowered her head onto his shoulder as he skewered a couple of dogs and settled them over the fire. "You're one of my best friends, Steve." She murmured into his shoulder, "Thank you. I'll think about it."

He kissed her forehead, and they sat like that for a while—eating hot dogs and sharing warmth.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

"Rise and shine, snorlax." Natasha wacked Steve's face with her pillow; he grumbled and the muscles in his back twitched as he hid his face into the mattress and away from her attacks. She rolled her eyes, dug out his uniform from his duffle bag and tossed it at him. Then she chucked his cowl at the back of his head. "Get up, you lazy ass. You need to shave if you're planning to adorn the American flag like old times."

" _Like old times_ ," Steve repeated, he pushed his head up and looked at her through a groggy eye, "Don't wanna shave."

"Retirement has turned you into a whiny bitch."

"M'not retired. Imma wanted man."

He pushed himself up on his hands and knees and glared at her, affronted that she was already in full gear and ready to go at such an ungodly hour. She whipped out her phone and snapped a picture of him and immediately sent it to Clint and T'Challa. He rolled his eyes—she really wasn't letting the whole _Siberia selfie_ thing go, it was like _language_ all over again—and got to work dressing himself. He peeled off his shirt and smirked at Natasha when he noticed that her eyes were following his every movement. She huffed, turning her attention to her phone pointedly, and only glanced over _twice_ when he'd removed his pants and was in nothing but his boxers. He slid into his Captain America uniform with practiced ease and pretty soon he was pouting at the razor she'd procured from his stuff.

When a portal opened up in the middle of the warehouse, Steve and Natasha weren't even fazed as Stephen Strange stepped through.

"Good evening!" He called cheerily.

"It's five o'clock in the morning." Natasha reminded him.

"Yeah, so stop smiling." Steve grumbled.

"Right," Strange said to himself, "We're in Berlin. Different time zone." He eyed Steve's half shaved face, "So here's the deal." Natasha and Steve both paused, nervous by the inflections in the sorcerer's tone, "I know that the plan was for me to accompany you to the Avengers compound, but something has come up at the sanctuary that I must attend to immediately. I can send you there, and just send me the word and I'll get you out, but I can't offer much help otherwise."

Natasha shrugged, "You've done a lot for us already."

Steve nodded.

Strange blinked in surprise, "I'm going to be honest here, I expected more resistance than, well, _none_."

"We understand that you have other responsibilities," Steve said, "You have your freedom. Thank you for helping us." Steve held out a hand, and Strange accepted it warily.

"You're just glad to be rid of me, aren't you?"

Steve smiled innocently and Natasha laughed.

Steve finished shaving and cheerfully put on his cowl. He raised an eyebrow at Natasha pointedly, and then sent the same look to Stephen. Natasha nodded, fiddling with the tazer on her wrist in anticipation for what was to come. Hopefully, if all went according to plan, there wouldn't be a need to fight—she and Steve would get in, get the book, and get out without Tony, Rhodey or Vision being any the wiser. Natasha knew that the odds of not running into at least one of them was slim, especially if Vision was currently at the compound.

If Vision is at the compound…they won't stand a chance.

"Ready?" Strange inquired, sliding his magical device that enables him to create portals onto his fingers all the while concentrating on his phone that had Google maps pulled up with the coordinates to the compound on display.

"Gonna miss you, Strange," Natasha answered, "Beam us up."

Strange created a portal easily, through which Steve and Natasha could see their old home, covered in ice and snow. They glanced at each other, nodded, saluted Doctor Strange, and stepped through. When the portal disappeared behind them, they were encompassed by the evening darkness. Natasha blinked, disoriented by the sudden change in time. _Talk about jetlag_. She turned to Steve and frowned at him.

"What?" He asked, glancing behind him like Tony was going to pop out of nowhere and snatch them.

"We really need to get winter stealth uniforms," She observed and continued dryly, "Vision must not be home, else we'd definitely be incapacitated by now."

Steve rolled his eyes, "Oh yeah, let me just call Tony and ask him to cook something up for us." He leveled her with a long pointed, _sarcastic_ glare that offended her more than it should have. She stuck her nose in the air and 'accidently' shot a widow bite at him that hit him right in the abdomen. He bucked over, grasping at his stomach until the electric shock wore off. She smirked.

"Ready?" She asked sweetly, slinking forward towards the compound with Steve on her heel. As they snuck through the grounds, a thought occurred to her and she turned to her comrade, "Are you going to be retrieving your shield while we're here?"

Steve's blue eyes widened at the mention of his shield, and he quickly turned his face away from Natasha, his mind seventy years away. He trudged through the snow, the cold suddenly sinking into his bones and reminding him of his traumatic journey into the 21st century and of all the things and people he left behind. "Howard gave me that shield," He said, deflecting.

Natasha narrowed her eyes, "What you mean is Tony's father gave you that shield. I'm sure Tony didn't fail to emphasize that after he found out that your best friend killed his parents." Steve chuckled bitterly as her words sunk in, not exactly regretting telling Natasha all that had happened, but frustrated that she can pick up on all the little details that he'd left out. "And you're, what, letting him guilt trip you? Howard Stark believed in Captain America and that's why he made the shield in the first place." She huffed when Steve continued to avert his eyes, and stopped walking abruptly. Steve nearly ran into her at the unexpected halt, and his heart began to thud loudly as she reached up and gripped his chin forcefully. She tipped his head down, and invaded his space until her forehead was nearly touching his, fingernails digging into his jaw. She could feel every warm exhale that escaped from his mouth, and she stubbornly held him there until he got the picture and locked eyes with her. Blue met green, light met darkness, and all Steve could see was her fiery indignation that Steve wouldn't trust himself when _she_ trusted him so explicitly and he sucked in a sharp breath at the realization that Natasha entrusted him with her emotions like this. She opened her mouth to continue, her eyebrows furrowed in distress and her eyes pleading with him to just believe what she was saying, "That shield belongs to you, Steve."

His lip twitched upwards, "I thought it was the government's property."

She laughed, "Legally, maybe. But only you are worthy of using it; it's kind of like Mjolnir. But metaphorically you need to be worthy, not literally." His smile softened and she let go of him with a few pats to his cheekbones, leaving little crescent moons in his skin where her nails had dug in. They continued forward, drawing closer and closer to the compound.

"Tony had to of made precautions for all the secret entrances only Avengers would know about," Steve muttered to himself with his tactical face on.

Natasha hummed in thought, "I don't think Tony is that dedicated to turning us in." They were nearing the Eastern wall where Clint had been notoriously known for hijacking the vents and sneaking into the common room unannounced. She turned to Steve, "This is where we part ways. Give me a boost?" Steve knelt down on a single knee and cupped his hands together. She placed her icy boot into his hands, looked up to eyeball the vent, and then nodded. He bounced on his knee to build momentum and then used all of his strength and precision to send her flying towards her opening. The air around her was bitter and unforgiving, but Natasha savored the familiar feeling of flying. Expertly, she flipped and kicked the vent at just the right spot so that it popped off easily and fell into the snow beneath her and as she reached the top of her jump and started to fall she grabbed the edge of the hole she'd created and slid inside. She peeked her head out to see if Steve had stayed behind to catch her if she'd fallen or some other stupid shit but was pleased to note that he was already gone.

Natasha really couldn't help but to feel warm whenever Steve trusted her.

She tapped her ear where her communication device was nestled.

"FRIDAY isn't as complicated a program as JARVIS was, but it's still going to take some time for me to disable the security cameras."

"She hasn't set off any alarms yet, which means she hasn't been programmed to recognize you as an intruder," Steve's voice filled her ear, "You were right, Tony isn't that dedicated in turning us in."

Natasha crawled forward on her hands and knees, not as familiar with these vents as Clint, but already knowing exactly what she was looking for.

"We could test exactly how dedicated he is; you could just try walking in and see what happens."

Steve snorted.

Even though he couldn't see her, Natasha pouted dramatically, "What? That plan has merit." She grinned to herself maniacally, as she approached what she was looking for. There was a place in the vents that connects to the compound's computer system; it was for emergencies or something, but now Natasha was going to use it to commandeer FRIDAY's programming. From one of her pouches on her belt she pulled out a little gadget that Tony had given her eons ago and a USB cord. She plugged the cord into her micro StarkTablet and then into the port, flicked the device so that a holographic keyboard appeared in front of her, and then she began typing furiously.

"Any sign of the other Avengers?" Natasha asked quietly.

"All clear."

"These firewalls aren't easy to crack, but it's certainly possible. Five minutes."

A few moments later, Steve's voice drifted back into her ear, "Say," He started nonchalantly; Natasha pictured Steve leaning against the northern wall of the compound, studying his fingernails casually, "Where did you learn computer programming?"

"SHIELDRA."

A sigh. "I really wish you guys would stop calling it that."

Natasha chortled as she continued to poke around FRIDAY's program, "But it's the most accurate name for the once believed good guy government agency."

"Is there even such a thing?" Steve asked dryly.

"Oh, come on," Natasha rolled her eyes, "I know you don't mean that; you joined the _Army._ You're Captain _America_. No government is perfect, but we can still believe in what it stands for."

There was silence for a solid twenty seconds.

"You know I was kidding but did _you_ really just give _me_ the freedom and democracy speech?"

Natasha's eyes, lit up by the holographic screen in front of her, flashed in pure amusement, "I was hardly talking about freedom or democracy; I'm Russian, remember? And that was hardly a speech. No near your caliber, at least. Sorry, it's just not my style."

"Don't I know it," He whistled, "You motivate people by your reputation alone. They're afraid of you because they aren't sure what you know about them from just a moment's glance. Have I ever mentioned how frighteningly attractive I find that?"

Natasha answered smugly, "You haven't needed to. I noticed." Just a few more strokes on the keyboard, and— "I'm in. You're clear. I'll meet you at the rendezvous point."

"Roger that."

Natasha returned to her hands and knees and crawled to where she knew the briefing room was—at this time of night, no one should be even close to this part of the compound. Using a tool from her utility belt, she unscrewed the vent below her and dropped down and landed on the ground quietly. Nothing but the emergency lights were on, casting a subtle glow across the floor. Natasha cursed Tony for having an aesthetic for glass, but nonetheless sunk into the shadows. Not that it would matter much when red white and blue would arrive.

Speaking of which—

"Nat," Steve whispered into the darkness as he slipped through the glass doors. Natasha stepped forward until the soft light illuminated some of her features. Steve didn't even flinch.

"My spy powers are no fun if they don't make you jump."

Steve chuckled and rolled his eyes.

"Any sign of Tony?" She shook her head, "Rhodey?" She repeated the action, "Vision?"

"Thankfully, no."

Steve brought his hand up to his chin in thought, "If I were Tony, where would I put a red book with secrets concerning the Winter Soldier?" He sighed, realization dawning on him, "Let's check his room, but it's most likely in his lab and if we know one thing about Tony it's that he's always in his lab."

She glanced at the clock, "Especially in the wee hours of the night."

"What are the odds that he'll just let us take it?"

Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose, "I think we're overestimating Tony's devotion to Ross; as in, I'm not sure Tony has _any_ devotion to the slimy General. Other than being butthurt about the whole Siberia thing, I imagine him being civil. Odds are, he may just let us take it. Let's just take the stairs down to the lab and _speak with him_."

"Yeah, because that worked out so well last time."

"Tony learned his lesson. Besides, it's our opportunity to apologize."

Steve sighed. "What do you need to apologize for, Nat? You didn't do anything wrong."

She shrugged, "I knew about his parents too, I didn't tell him either. And for the airport—I let you go. Although, I don't regret that decision." She shook her head, "Tony has lost a lot in the past year, and I guess I'm just now realizing that some of that loss is my fault."

Another sigh, this time coupled with a small strained smile. "Okay. I'll follow your lead on this one."

Natasha quirked an eyebrow, "Really? No objections?"

Steve huffed, grabbed her by the shoulder and steered her out of the room and towards the staircase. She went willingly, but not without pointing out that Steve was manhandling her only because she was allowing him to manhandle her. They walked down the stairs with tense shoulders, fists curled up into tight balls at their sides. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Steve squeezed his eyes shut and Natasha could practically hear what he was thinking: _if I can't see you then you can't see me_. She elbowed him and his eyes flew open. They peered into the lab, and saw Tony tinkering on the leg of a new Iron Man suit. He was turned away from them, and _You're Time is Gonna Come_ by Led Zeppelin was blaring through the speakers.

Steve blew out a long breath, "FRIDAY, can you please let us in?"

"I'll ask boss," FRIDAY responded.

They heard the music soften as FRIDAY, no doubt, informed Tony about the arrival of his impromptu guests, and then his head whipped around to where they were standing to the door of his lab. His eyes were wide, like he couldn't believe his eyes. Natasha raised a hand and wiggled her fingers in an awkward wave. Tony had a sort of awed looking smirk on his features; he waved back. They saw his lips moving, saying something to his AI, and then the lock on the door clicked and they were pushing through into the lab.

"Well, well, well…" Tony started, not even slightly vehemently, "Look who it is."

"Tony—" Natasha started.

"Nuh uh!" He interrupted, raising a hand, "I go first."

Natasha could see through his antics, but she only rolled her eyes and allowed him to have his turn.

He glanced at Steve, "First of all, I'm sorry—"

"Tony," Steve rushed in, " _I'm_ the one who should be sorry—"

"Apology accepted, but did you or did you not hear me when I said it was my turn?"

Steve snapped his mouth shut.

Tony plowed on, "Now I can honestly say that I haven't the slightest clue as to why you are here, but you shouldn't be. Ross is watching this place like a hawk and all I can do about it is sit helplessly inside this lab. How is that strategy working out for me? You can probably take a wild guess, but I've sort of run out of options. Now I'm working myself ragged trying to get the Accords amended and to get the charges against you and the rest of the team lifted, but it's taking a lot just to get the wheels rolling. If you don't leave soon then we'll all be thrown into the RAFT like a pack of mangy mutts. I still believe full heartedly that we need to be put in check, but as it turns out—Thaddeus Ross is a manipulative son of a bitch."

"What has he done?" Natasha inquired.

Tony sucked in a deep breath, "Nothing terrible—yet. After Zemo was taken in, Ross deducted that I had been tied to everything that happened in Siberia; I'm on house arrest." He snorted, but there was a dark edge to it that had Natasha on guard. "Vision released all the information that we have on Zemo to the public, and I'm hoping that by providing Barnes with the best lawyers money can buy we can remove his death sentence and lift the charges on all of your shoulders—just one little snag."

"In order for Bucky to be put on trial, he needs to be physically present for said trial," Steve guessed. Natasha also imagined that Steve entrusting his best friend into Tony's care after all that had happened would be quite the snag as well but they'll just have to cross that bridge when they get there, won't they?

"Bingo."

"Which leads us to why we're here," Natasha chimed in, "Barnes is vulnerable. Everything that HYRDA implanted into him is still there—"

"That _would_ make one vulnerable."

"—we need to remove it. As quickly as possible, and certainly before _Ross_ or someone else just like him can get his hands on that particular trigger." Tony nodded for her to continue, "You didn't happen to see a red book containing all the secrets about vulnerable little Barnes's in Siberia somewhere, did you?"

Tony shook his head.

"Shit," Steve cursed.

"I was a little…overwhelmed at the time. But I do have something for you," Tony walked behind his desk and bent down to pick something up. When he stood to his full height, Steve's shield was in his hands. He paced closer to the duo, glanced from Natasha to Steve to the shield a couple of times before awkwardly extending his arms out to the blonde. Steve gaped at Tony, accepting his shield with shaky hands. "I really am sorry," Tony said, "I wanted to avenge my parents, I guess, but I realize now that I can't possibly place the blame on Barnes." He chortled bitterly, "After thinking it all over in my head so many times, I think I understand just why you get so stubborn about the Avengers having the freedom to choose."

Steve blinked, fondling the edges of his shield almost reverently.

"Incoming aircraft from all sides, boss," FRIDAY relayed urgently.

Tony's eyes narrowed, "It Ross?"

"Who else would it possibly be?"

Natasha was already typing at her phone hurriedly, sending a distress signal to Strange.

Tony scoffed, "Okay, well, _I_ really need to reprogram your snarky attitude." Tony fiddled around with his holographs, a map of the compound encasing his desk. Six little red planes indicated just how screwed they were. "Where's Vision?"

"Working with Miss Potts."

Tony grimaced.

Natasha grabbed Steve's elbow, shoving him towards the door.

"Thank you, Tony," She said, "You've really impressed me." Her phone vibrated, and she slid her fingers across the screen to read the incoming message, "It looks like it's time for us to go."

"Are you crazy?" He called after her, "Ross isn't exactly known for being frugal with his bullets. You don't want to get seriously injured? Stay here. Either way, we're being carted off to the super scary underwater prison, but you can avoid some blood loss this way."

Natasha shook her head, "No, if we leave then only Steve and I are at risk—you're staying here."

"But—!"

Natasha rounded on him, "We need you to stay here, Tony. You're the only chance that we have to make things right—keep working on this. We have faith in you," She glanced at Steve who nodded in agreement, "If you're put in prison then we can all kiss our freedom goodbye."

Tony raised his arms in defeat.

"Don't die!" He yelled after them as they ran up the stairs.


End file.
